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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084304">Victory Day Ritual</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrash_uwu/pseuds/spacetrash_uwu'>spacetrash_uwu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Centricide (Webseries)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Practicing Angst, Victory Day Oneshot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:41:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrash_uwu/pseuds/spacetrash_uwu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Victory Day, and like every year, Commie gets drunk to watch the parade while Nazi gets drunk to do exactly the opposite.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Communist/White Identitarian | Nazi (Centricide)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Victory Day Ritual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nazi shuddered as he walked past the living room. Commie was sitting on the couch, alone, as he took up the entire space with his legs spread and arms thrown over the backrest. One hand was holding a bottle of Vodka and he paid no one any heed as he stared at the TV, hypnotized.</p><p>Nazi caught a glimpse of it. He swallowed; a mix of anger and nausea washed over him as he saw the men and women, all done up in their ridiculous parade uniforms like militaristic peacocks, march down the red square, the deep, monotonous voice of a speaker announcing something in Russian.</p><p>He was disgusted with the open display of imperialism; not because he hated imperialism, but because he hated that his ideology had gotten stuck at the shit end of it.</p><p>Today seventy-five years ago his biggest aspiration died. And at the hands of those Slavic degenerates no less.</p><p>He aggressively fixed himself a drink in the kitchen, trying vainly to block out the voice of the announcer; Commie was drinking to celebrate, and he was drinking to forget. He pulled out a glass, hit it on the counter, then walked to get a beer from the fridge.</p><p><em>Ah shit</em>, he thought as he hit the bottle too hard on the counter top while trying to open it; the glass sprung and a moment later the top half of the bottle laid shattered all around his feet, his formerly pristine leather shoes stained.</p><p>Cursing, he set down the bottle on the counter, crouching down to pick up the largest shards from the ground; he dumped them in the trash and ripped off some paper tissues to wipe the beer he had spilled.</p><p>As he knelt on the floor, frowning when the sticky liquid seeped through the thin paper, Commie marched into the room; he wasn’t steady on his feet as he stood right next to Nazi to take something out of the fridge. The door opened lightly into Nazi’s shoulder, and he begrudgingly moved to make space; his face felt hot as he felt Commie’s condescending stare burn the back of his head.</p><p>“You look good down there,” the tall man slurred.</p><p>Nazi glared daggers at his kneecaps, but wordlessly continued his task; he was afraid his voice might crack if he spoke now.</p><p>“The right place for fascists: down in the dirt,” Commie smirked. What a petty bitch. Ancap didn’t throw triumphant dances or parades on the day of the fall of the Warsaw Pact, or on Victory Day for that matter. It was only Commie who couldn’t help but gloat.</p><p>Nazi just grit his teeth as he got to his feet to throw away the tissues. He was impeded by Commie limply tipping him over with his leg; his drunk roommate wasn’t even trying very hard, but Nazi lost balance anyway, falling over again before managing to stand up.</p><p>He straightened his back, defiantly scowling at Commie. “Bask in your single day of glory,” he growled, “we both know our ideologies are equally dead.”</p><p>Commie’s face changed, shifted; it didn’t exactly get softer, but sorrow welled in his icy blue eyes, slowly replacing the derision.</p><p>Nazi only huffed and turned around, picking up a fresh cup even though he didn’t need one; he just needed a moment to not look at Commie, not let his infectious melancholy get to him. Or at least not let him see that it did.</p><p>He wanted to demonstrably brush past Commie to show him just how little he thought of him and his shitty parades, held by a country that had since fallen far from his envisioned utopia. But Commie’s hand snapped forth, painfully grabbing Nazi’s arm and holding him in place.</p><p>“You’re right. It’s a sad charade,” he said, not meeting Nazi’s eyes. “We both lost that day, because we let the anarchists win.”</p><p>Nazi hated that tone; Commie, unlike the other three, often wallowed in a depressing understanding that what he stood for wasn’t good, and that no matter how hard he tinkered at it, it never would be. Those moods would contaminate the whole house, leaving the other three to trying to avoid him at all costs as to not get trapped in a cheerless conversation about poetry and guilt.</p><p>“Save your sympathy for someone who wants it. Maybe Ancom needs another state handout, go bother him.”</p><p>He regretted his venomous words when he felt himself get roughly pinned against the fridge, air leaving his lungs at the impact.</p><p>“It’s so very like you fascists to never know when you’d do well to take another’s kindness,” Commie growled, body pressing closer into Nazi. Nazi began to squirm, trying to wind his way out from under Commie’s large form, but to no avail. He felt iron fingers dig into his flesh, sure to leave bruises. Commie’s face was close to his, too close as he felt his hot breath ghost over his face.</p><p>“In the end, you’ll always lose, Nazi. You know why?” Commie leaned even closer, their noses practically touching. Nazi grimaced; his body felt hot and flushed, reacting strongly to being this close to another. He wasn’t used to being touched.</p><p>He swallowed, trying to direct his attention away from the warmth and the pressure and towards his disgust with the degenerate in front of him.</p><p>“Answer me,” Commie commanded, shoving Nazi against the fridge.</p><p>The shove prompted a heady feeling to course through Nazi. He wanted more shoving, more pressure, more tightness, more closeness.</p><p>“No,” he ground out; there was that expected crack of his voice. <em>Pathetic</em>.</p><p>“Because you’re always alone. Always. Alone.”</p><p>The words rung loudly in his ears and he shuddered. When Commie pushed a knee between his legs, presumably to threaten him even more, he lost his composure, leaning forward to kiss Commie.</p><p>Commie was taken aback at first, he noticed due to the sudden stiffness overtaking the taller man’s body, but he quickly regained his composure and responded in kind. He pressed himself even closer to Nazi, hands coming down to grab his hips in encouragement.</p><p>Nazi whimpered, for a moment remembering where he was and what he absolutely <em>didn’t</em> want to do right now, but then he felt the intense pleasure of rubbing himself against Commie’s leg. He threw back his head, wantonly humping Commie as their eyes locked on each other. It had been so long since the last release that he barely found time to feel ashamed for the whorish, degenerate noises falling from his lips as Commie grabbed his hips even more tightly, staring down at him with insultingly little passion.</p><p>He picked up his pace, but was stopped when Commie suddenly retreated, letting a boneless Nazi drop to the floor.</p><p>“Back where you belong,” Commie slurred and Nazi faintly wondered whether he regretted not doing this with the kind version of Commie instead. Then he felt a rough hand tangle in his hair, watching with embarrassing excitement as the taller man opened his pants, and regretted nothing at all, instead reveling in the gruff treatment. Commie pleasured himself in his mouth and Nazi let it happen. He reached down into his own pants, sighing in relief when Commie didn’t make him stop.</p><p>Ancom would’ve been proud of the whine that escaped him when Commie pulled out, jerking himself in Nazi’s face until he came. Nazi gasped, finishing himself off to the image of the taller man standing above him and to how fucking ashamed he was going to feel later when he went to sleep.</p><p>“I won again,” Commie spat as he marched off, leaving Nazi to droop in his perch on the floor.</p><p>Nazi hated victory day.</p><p>But he also looked forward to next year.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So basically the opposite of the Worker's Day Parade oneshot I wrote. Also holy crap it was difficult to imagine these as dudes, I had to correct SO many accidental "she"s it's ridiculous. But you know, wanted to try my hand at this to experiment.</p><p>Also I accidentally called the file I have this in a oneshit and I really wish that was like a tag or a category or smth XD</p></blockquote></div></div>
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